


Foundations

by Goodluckdetective (scorpiontales)



Series: Dust to Dust [9]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst, F/M, Mental Breakdown, Muteness, Recovery, The Deep Roads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-27
Updated: 2015-11-27
Packaged: 2018-05-03 13:43:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5293340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scorpiontales/pseuds/Goodluckdetective
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Warden Brosca enters the Deep Roads and pieces herself back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foundations

Lira walked into the Deep Roads with hollow eyes and empty thoughts.

Her companions noticed, of course. How could they not? Where Lira once whistled commands, silence reigned, Alistair forced to lead in her place. Where Lira would usually sign about the world around them, her hands remained still at her side, or worse, on the handle of her sword. Where Lira would smile or frown, her face stayed a blank mask, like a sculpture. She reacted to almost nothing.

Nothing except violence.

When it came to the Darkspawn, to Harrowmount’s men, Lira was as capable as ever. Her sword met everything that dared to stand in her path, her shield blocked any who tried to strike back. She cut through the enemy efficiently, showing no mercy. It was fast. It was quick. It was efficient.

It was terrifying.

“Lira,” Alistair said after she’d helped slaughter an ogre. The beast was on the ground now, bleeding from the holes that used to contain eyes. Lira stood on top of the corpse, swaying a little in place. Her entire armor was coated in Darkspawn blood. Before, when they’d been on the surface, Alistair wouldn’t have hesitated to run up and check for injuries. Now, he held himself back. “Are you okay?”

She turned to look at him. The lack of recognition in her eyes made him shudder. It was almost like looking into the face of ghouls. After taking him in for a moment, she jumped off the ogre, walking off towards the next cave opening. Alistair could not help but notice she made no effort to sheath her sword.

Battle. Blood. Silence. That was what Lira had been for the last two days. Gone was the woman who smiled at his bad jokes and chased after Zevran for lewd comments. Gone was the woman who offered him a homemade dinner and danced under the stars when she thought no one was watching. Gone was the woman he fell so terribly in love with over the last few months.

Love. He loved her. And now, staring at this stranger wearing her skin, he found himself desperate to find her again.

Alistair reached into his pocket, pulling out the whistle. It’d been in his pocket for so little time and yet it felt like it’d been an eternity. How could such a small token feel so heavy? He ran his thumb across the holes on the top and closed his eyes.

“How do I fix this?” He whispered. “Please. Just tell me how to fix this.”

The roar of the Darkspawn was not a comforting answer.

* * *

They spoke about her while she slept.

It was the only time they could do it. The Deep Roads left little room for privacy with their terrible echo and as a result, gossip was left to times when the party being gossiped about was unconscious. Lira slept little in the Deep Roads, the Darkspawn made it hard to given the nightmares, but she usually fell asleep long enough for them to discuss their situation.

“We should have never let her come here,” Alistair said, dragging his hand down his face. He looked more worn than he had their entire journey. It didn’t suit his youthful face. “I should have…told her to stay behind in camp or something.”

“Yes, because our Dear Warden would let you walk into danger without her,” Zevran said. He was cleaning his knives as usual, wiping away the dried Darkspawn blood. The thick black substance stained the rags he was using, but he didn’t seem to mind.  Out of the three of them, he was doing dealing the best with Deep Roads, for reasons none of the party wanted to dwell on.

“That still doesn’t mean I screwed up. I practically let her walk into a den of wolves! Who does that?” He lifted his hands into the air before letting them fall to rest on his knees. “Out of all the ways I could have screwed up and-” He cut off, a grimace on his face.

“You cannot blame yourself for the demons of Lira’s past,” Wynne said, her voice gentle. She’d been rather quiet during their journey through the tunnels as well, preoccupied with watching out for darkspawn and their companions. “You had no idea what lied ahead.” She looked to Lira who was fast asleep on her cot. She twitched a little in her sleep, her lips pressed together tight.“None of us did.”  

“I could have kept her away from her harpy of a mother at least,” Alistair grumbled. He reached up to push his fingers through his hair. “Of all the things she could have said-”

“I have heard much worse.” Zevran said, tucking his blades back in his belt. “I think she probably has heard much worse as well.” He looked to Alistair, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. “Give our Dear Warden a night’s rest. Enough time fighting Darkspawn and she will have forgotten about any old wounds that plague her. It is how it works for me.”

“That’s called repression, Zevran,” Wynne’s voice was dry. Zevran just shrugged.

“Works all the same.”

Alistair doubted it was all that simple. Otherwise, he’d be able to look at dog kennels without wanting to vomit.

* * *

The next day, Alistair’s resolve to wait it out broke.

He wasn’t quite sure what did it. There was a plethora of reasons. The Roads were too quiet without her. The Darkspawn were terrible enough without her company. His nightmares were always better when he shared them with someone else who could understand. That was only the beginning of the list of reasons why he needed to talk to her.

None of them were the real reason he walked over. Because in the moment Alistair say Lira sitting off by herself once more, his only thought was that he could not stand to see her like this any longer.

“Look,” he said, crouching down in front of her.  She didn’t twitch, her gaze still on the ground. “I’m not going to force you to talk to me. I know what it’s like to want to shut out the world. I know what it’s like to want to close yourself off from more pain. But I ask that you listen to me. You don’t have to respond. Just listen.”

A second passed before she lifted her head to look at him. Alistair looked terrible, eyes red, face covered in soot. Being so deep underground likely wasn’t good for him. Humans weren’t meant for the darkness of the deep roads. When he saw she was paying attention, he relaxed a little, if only a fraction.

“Lira, I hate Orzammar.”

She stared at him for a long moment. No reaction. Just like she’d been for the past week. He took that as a sign to continue.

“I hate Orzammar because it’s dark. I hate it because it’s always covered in smoke. I hate it because all the doorways are so low that I almost always hit my head. But mostly, I hate it because of what it does to you. No, I despise it.”

He reached forward, placing his hand on her knee. She didn’t shrink away.

“I despite how they treat you. How random strangers think it’s okay to spit on you as you walk past. I despise how we can’t go anywhere without them saying something demeaning and I despise that I can’t fight them all without starting a diplomatic incident. I hate,” his voice grew to a hiss, “that your own Mother dares to call you such terrible things to your face.” He took a deep breath through his nose, and lifted his hand from her knee to her cheek, cradling it in his palm. “But you know what I hate most?”

Lira did not shake her head. She still didn’t respond. But her eyes watched him carefully. Alistair, ran his thumb across her brand.

“I hate that it can make the woman I love doubt her own worth.”

Lira’s eyes grew wide. Her thoughts, almost silent for the last week, came back just enough for his words to echo in her mind. _Love. Love. Love._

“I know this isn’t the most romantic of timing,” Alistair said, gesturing to the deep roads around them. “Certainly not the place I had in mind. But I thought you needed to know.” He looked away from her for a second before looking back. “I needed you to know.”

Lira stared at him. For the first time in a week, the dull sheen in her expression was gone. He smiled, and while it was worn and frayed, it had more life to it. When she didn’t sign back, his expression faded slightly, a hint of disappointment  running through his features. But his smile did not vanish.

“I love you, Lira,” he said again. “And when you’re up to talking, I’ll be the first one there to listen.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Before he pulled away, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a whistle Lira thought long gone. She watched as he tucked it within her own pockets, movements gentle.

“For when you want it again,” he whispered. After that he walked towards the small camp they had set up. He sat back down, staring into the fire, and Lira saw Zevran put his hand on Alistair’s shoulder and Alistair put his head in his hands.

Lira looked down at her own palms. Worn. Tough. Calloused. After a minute, she lifted them. Let herself form words.

_Nug. Coin. Sword._

She stopped then tried again.

_Sister. Ale. Dagger. Friend._

A smile spread across her face. She looked back up at Alistair. No one at camp was watching. And in the darkness, she let herself sign the words she was not quite ready to present to the world.

_Thank you._

* * *

She didn’t come back to herself all at once.

That would be cheap. Years of stress and abuse had gone into her breakdown; a simple declaration wouldn’t fix all of that in a day. But it got her started. Piece by piece, emotions trickled back into her, filling the empty spaces they had fled to keep Lira safe. Zevran’s jokes began to be met by smiles. Wynne’s concern was acknowledged instead of outright ignored. Alistair’s comments were responded to by her either nodding or shaking her head.

She didn’t sign to the others until they met the Legion. Lira had heard of the Legion, back when she lived in Dust Town. They had a reputation there, as a place to go to die, a way out that involved glory for those like them. Back when she’d been in Dust Town, she’d never put thought into joining. Rica would have killed her. And she never expected that they’d want to take once forever silent.

She was wrong. Watching the Legion, she could see it; they took everyone. Here, the rules of Orzammar didn’t apply. People of all Castes used steel weapons, wore armor.  In the Deep Roads, the code of her own people was forgotten.

“You realize how stupid it is down here,” one of them told her as she passed. “Letting all that talent go to waste.” He pointed to the Warden crest on her armor. “Good to see the surfacers picked you up. Shame to let skills like yours rot.”

When Lira lifted her hands to sign “ _thank you_ ” she didn’t miss how her companions fall silent at her first words to someone else in days.

* * *

When they found Hespith, when they learned what had made the Broodmother that now lay dead at their feet, Lira felt a new emotion flicker into her veins; anger.

Stone, she missed anger. It was hot and raw, just as volatile as one of Morrigan’s spells and Lira relished in the feeling of it flooding over her. Lira could taste it on her tongue, feel it thrum through every inch of her body. She felt her mouth pull back into a snarl at the thought of these women being transformed into something like this, into being moved about like puppets at the will of someone who was supposed to keep them steady.

Branka. Paragon. That was who had caused this. She had made her people into weapons. Disposable. Easily tossed away.  Her own family. Her lover. How dare she? How dare she take that title that they entrusted her with to harm people? Here she was, the supposed best of their people, and Lira found her more repulsive than any Darkspawn in a mile.

“ _She will answer for this_ ,” Lira signed. “ _I will make her answer for this_.” She reached into her pocket, dragging her whistle back out. To force Branka’s attention on her,  she would need noise. The whistle would have to do. Throwing it back over her neck felt natural, like taking a breath of air. “ _We are going. Be prepared._ ”

If she had looked behind her in that moment, she would have noticed the tears in Alistair’s eyes and the breathtaking smile on his face.

* * *

“I am your Paragon!”

That was what Branka said, when it came down to it. The crimes of the Anvil had been brought to light, Caridin’s story exposed for the world to hear. Dwarves, sacrificed to be weapons. Life given up for power. Blood sold for strength.

“You cannot side with her,” Caridin said. He was standing behind Lira, his gravely voice echoing through the chamber full of lava. “She will use the Anvil to make more. To make an army.”

“An army to save our people!” Branka’s voice was a growl. “I am going to bring salvation to Orzammar.”

“You will bring blood magic to Orzammar,” Wynne said. Lira could hear the anger in her voice even over the sound in her own ears.

“If that is what we need, so be it.” Branka lifted her mace, pointing it towards Caridin. “You know how it works here, Warden. I am your Paragon. It is your duty to stand aside.”

Lira looked at her sword in her hands. For ages, she believed it to be her truth worth, to be the thing that gave her power and purpose. Her ability to maim, to kill. From the moment she’d joined the Carta, she’d placed her achievements as a result of her physical might. She’d survived so long in the Carta because she was strong. She’d made it out of Orzammar because she was useful. She was a Warden because she could take a hit.

Now she saw the truth plain. Her worth lay not in her might but in her soul. Her ability to decide, to feel, to change was what gave her power. Not anything more. Not anything less.

She was not a sword. She was not a weapon. And if she was, if was for herself, not Branka.

And with that thought, Lira lifted her sword and charged.    

* * *

Branka died on her sword and Cardin made her a crown fit for a king.

It was a heavy crown, solid gold that was decorated in so many jewels that it was almost too much. Lira was unprepared for the weight of it in her hands, sagging a little as it was passed, and when she tucked it in her bag, she felt herself dreading the backache she would have later. Cardin was silent during most of the affair, saying little outside requests for materials, but there was one thing he managed to depart before he dived into the lava.

“Branka,” he said, voice slow. Lira wondered if the years were catching up with him, now that the Anvil was destroyed. “She was a Paragon, yes?”

Lira nodded. There was no point in lying. Cardin was silent for a moment.

“They did not choose her placement well. Paragons are for dwarfs who come along once in an era. That sort of greed is not so rare. Paragons should be above such things.”

Lira couldn’t argue with that. She was rather surprised when Cardin took a step back, the metal joints of his armor squeaking with the movement. He stretched out a hand, letting it hover over Lira’s head. It took her a moment to realize the gesture as that of a blessing.

“It is a shame Orzammar has missed a Paragon of her kind right in front of them.” Lira felt herself tense. There was no- “Hopefully, they will one day remedy their mistake.”  

And with that, he fell back into the lava.

There was a long moment of silence.

“Did he just…die and name you paragon?” Alistair asked.

For the first time in a week, Lira laughed.

* * *

Before they left the Deep Roads, Lira grabbed Alistair’s hand and signed words she’d left buried for too long

_“I love you too.”_

* * *

Love does not cure all wounds. Love does not solve everything. It never will.

But it helps.

Even in Orzammar. 


End file.
